The Way We Went
by strange oblivion
Summary: Vision? Dream? Nightmare? Flashback? Sam Winchester struggles to make sense.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I own nothing, but if I did, oh the fun the Winchesters and I could have! And Comments are fun!

Letting Go

Warning: Character Death here. Prologue.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his legs were screaming at him to stop. But dammit he kept going. So far this job had all gone to hell, if he stopped it would only be worse.

Sam wrenched open a door, and he followed his brother in. Sam was breathing hard, his hair waving and curling from the sweat. And the first thing Dean thought was 'Dude, you definitely need a hair cut.'

But he followed his brother up the stairs, both nearly collapsing in the stairwell as they struggled to catch their breath.

"Sure. Poltergeist. Easy." Dean said, with a fair amount of scorn. Sam didn't bother to reply, just gave him a dark look. The 'shut up Dean' look. Nearly made Dean grin.

"Poltergeists aren't supposed to leave their locations." Sam managed to say in between breaths, with a frown.

"I'd say Elvis definitely left the building." Dean said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"It's not a poltergeist then." Sam said, digging in his bag for their bible. Their guide to all things job related. Their father's journal, so meticulously kept for years. The neat, cramped handwriting and drawings filling the pages, the margins. Bursting with highlighted clippings and pictures, the occasional hand drawn map on the back of a napkin. Their all in one encyclopedia, which Sam was leafing through with urgency.

Dean pulled his gun and kept watch. Loaded with rock salt, all it had managed to do so far was piss whatever it was the hell off. Bullets wouldn't work either, but until Sam found something, this was the best he could do as the stairs below them creaked, and something sounded like it was dragging across the worn planks.

"Sam..."

Sam didn't answer, the only answer was the rifling of pages.

"Sam..."

More rifling and rustling.

"Sam!"

"What?" Sam hissed back.

"Find it quick or move!" Dean said, then didn't give him a choice anyway as he got up and grabbed his brother's collar, pulling him up and up the stairs. Pushing Sam ahead as he covered the rear.

Dean couldn't shake the bad feeling about all of this. He had learned a long time ago to trust his gut, and it was screaming at him right now. Picked a hell of a time to start too, he could have used the warning when they were safe in the car, not even here in town yet.

The twilight was moving in, the roof not lit. The moon cast the barest hint of light across the asphalt shingled surface, the angle wasn't too steep. It would take careful stepping, but they'd done worse.

"Got it!" Sam said and read the contents of the page as he tossed his bag to Dean, who started digging through it.

Not a moment too soon, as the window they'd just crawled out of exploded in rage, sending glass slivers all over the roof, reflecting like ice as they bounced and rolled and slid. Dean tossed the bag back to his brother and threw the contents of the bottle at the barely seen creature. Fire erupting and dissipating, with a scream that made the brothers cover their ears.

And like a sonic boom, the blast came after there was no more fire, knocking them off their feet.

Sam slid across the roof, his large sneaker clad foot catching in a gutter. And operating only on instinct he reached out and grabbed his brother's hand as Dean flew past.

Ricocheting off the side of the building, nearly pulling Sam's arm out of its socket.

Dean scrambled for a foot hold, in vain. The gutter Sam's foot was caught in creaked.

And green-hazel eyes met Sam's calmly. Seriously. "Let go." Was all Dean said.

Sam swore he didn't hear him right and instead adjusted his hold, grabbing on with the other arm and tried to pull, the gutter creaking dangerously again.

"Let go." Dean repeated again. His face solemn, and pained.

"No!" Sam grunted out as he kept trying different ways to pull Dean up. But the angle was wrong, and Sam wasn't strong enough.

"You can't pull us both up, Sammy." Dean said desperately. "Let go."

"Dean, shut up!" Sam snapped. Not like this. Not like this. It was never supposed to be like this. "It's too far a drop, you won't survive." Not like this. He couldn't let his brother go. Let him fall to his death. He couldn't let go. He wouldn't. Dean couldn't ask that of him. No one should ask him to drop his brother. To intentionally kill his brother. It was unfathomable.

Sam met his brother's eyes again, and Sam saw them shining. Filled with unexpected tears as his mouth twitched. "Never forget, Sammy." Dean said in a voice that was choked. "I love you."

Then he wrenched his wrist.

Sam's fingers desperately searched the air for Dean. Frantically trying to grab onto some part of his brother, because he couldn't let him go.

Dean knew that. And made the choice for him.

Damn him.

Sam heard a scream. And realized it was his own voice as his eyes never left his brother's as Dean seemed to grow farther and farther away. Metal crunched and more glass broke, his scream interrupted by the sound of a car alarm.

He. Let. Go.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Interlude of Reality

Sam woke up screaming. "Dean!" And got punched in the shoulder for his trouble.

"Dude! What's the problem?" Dean demanded from the driver's seat, turning the radio down.

"Dean?" Sam said, turning in the passenger seat (and bumping his knee in the process). He looked at his brother unbelievably. "You're all right." He said with a grateful sigh. Dean gave him a strange look.

"Should I even ask?" Dean asked, pulling into a gas station.

"Probably not." Sam said, settling back into the seat. It was just a dream. A freaky, scary dream, and his shoulder was killing him, but it was a dream.

Oh fuck, what if it was a vision?

"Gonna go take a leak." Dean said as he parked the Impala. He reached into the glove compartment and got out their supply of cash, ever dwindling as it always was. "Go get us some coffee. And M&Ms." Sam watched his brother get out of the car and stretch as he bow-leggedly

walked toward the rest room.

He walked numbly into the gas station and bought two large coffees, a bag of M&Ms and threw in a bag of chips for himself. He'd once heard that college was the time for bad nutrition. Obviously who ever said that had never gone on a demon hunting road trip with his brother. So on a whim he threw in a banana normally used for ice cream sundaes.

Coming out, he saw his brother pumping gas, bought and paid for with another scammed credit card. And to think he once had aspirations to be a lawyer, upholding the law and standing up for the innocent. He was going to change the world, one case at a time, with dreams of arguing some point of constitutional law in front of the Supreme Court.

Finally a Winchester who wouldn't have to live in the shadows.

But shadows weren't inanimate, weightless things, cast by the light around them as the light hit an object. They were living, breathing...and they grabbed. They grabbed you and pulled you right back whenever you tried to escape. Sam knew, he'd escaped for four years, and then just like that, quick as a blink, or a burst of flame, he was back into the heart of them

He didn't know which was healthier. The way he was, always trying to find the way out. Or the way his brother was, embracing of the darkness. Not that Dean was 'dark.' He was the only bright spot in Sam's life.

Which was why his vision shook him right down to the core.

"No, it was a dream. Not all my dreams are visions." He repeated to himself.

"You say something?" Dean asked as he topped off the gas tank before replacing the pump back in its holder.

"Nah." Sam said with an easy shrug. The things he'd picked up from his brother. The quick shrug, the half shrug. Changing the subject with aplomb. And sometimes it worked. Especially when his brother's back was to him, as Dean slid easily behind the wheel.

He passed the banana to his brother, who made a face and reached for the M&Ms instead.

"You know, maybe we should get one of those cup holder things." Sam said as he balanced his coffee between his knees.

"You kidding? It doesn't come standard with this."

"Uh...neither does a false trunk filled with holy water and rock salt." Sam pointed out as Dean pulled back out of the gas station.

"We're not getting a cup holder." Dean said with a scowl. Cup holders belonged in mini vans, in Dean's view.

"Fine." Sam said. "I just don't want to see you crying and moaning when I spill something in your girlfriend's interior."

"You like breathing?' Dean all but growled.

Sam rolled his eyes. "So where are we off to now?"

"You don't pay attention to a thing I say, do you?" Dean said with a chuckle as he reached into the backseat.

"What'd you say?" Sam said with a grin as Dean dropped a slim file in his lap.

"Poltergeist." Dean said. And Sam's blood ran cold.

"Poltergeist?" Sam said as he leafed through the file's scant contents. Poltergeist. A poltergeist had been in his dream. Which was NOT a vision. Because he didn't want it to be a vision.

"Yeah, you know, things flying off shelves...hair getting pulled. Good times."

"Says here they've seen it. A man in chains? What is this, a Charles Dickens rip off?" Sam said.

"I was thinking more Poe." Dean said. "But they're acquaintances of Dad's, and they're willing to pay."

"Pay? Like a real job? Does that make you nearly legit? Next you'll be filing taxes and everything." Sam teased.

"Shaddup." Dean said with a shake of his head as he pulled onto the freeway. "So what had you screaming anyway?"

"Nothing." Sam said and Dean looked at him askew. Share and care man was closing up? He usually did that was something was really wrong. Great.

"Sam, is this something I should worry about?" Dean asked seriously during a break in the tape.

"Nah." Sam said. "Same old, same old." Nothing for Dean to worry about, because Sam wasn't going to let it happen. End of story. Something wanted to take them on, come and get it. Mess with his brother? That was a stupid mistake.

Dean nodded absently and drove toward the city. Sam recognized the skyline, and could nearly pick out the roof in his dream, his hands clenching into fists in his lap as they pulled into another tacky motel.

They surveyed the room, garish as usual. "Damn, no magic fingers." Dean said as he threw his bag onto a bed, claiming it for his own.

"You're obsessed." Sam said, heading into the bathroom where he splashed his face with icy water. Didn't help though, the feeling of foreboding and gloom. Which, honestly, was probably brought on by himself.

"Come on, let's get something to eat. We've got a while before we have to make our heroic appearance." Dean said, clapping his brother on the back when he came out of the bathroom. Sam forced a grin onto his face, and lightness into his tone.

"Sounds good."


	3. Chapter 3

Author Note: Warning: Character Death. Or is it?

Chapter 3: After The Fall

He could hear his breath in his ears. His heart beat. The light shockwaves that spread through his body each and every time his feet pounded on the asphalt. The catch in his stomach when he lost his balance, nearly falling. Nearly falling. Nearly.

Falling.

He was falling. He was going down, missed the brass ring, missed the edge. Missed the ground. Falling, endlessly falling. Over and over until he was floating. Turning. Gliding. Across the space between reality and dreams.

Sam knew he was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, because this was a dream. Pinching yourself to wake up was only a myth. Like the Tooth Fairy.

Well, not exactly like the Tooth Fairy. The Tooth Fairy just wasn't the benevolent winged creature who brought money for teeth that fell out, making their way for adult teeth. It was more along the lines of a specter that tore teeth out of your face before killing you. Better to not tell the kiddies that.

But pinching yourself obviously didn't work. O r he would have been long ago awake. Instead of...doing whatever it was that he was doing.

He'd long ago accepted his visions as things that could come to pass. Things he could prevent. He prevented that woman dying in her daughter's nursery. Prevented the yellow eyed demon bastard from tainting another kid. Like he was tainted.

No, Dean had done that. Dean had run through the fire and grabbed the kid. Just like Dean was always going through fire to grab him. To stop him from going into fire in the first place. Dean was always there.

Then he wasn't.

A quick flick of a wrist and he was gone. The hazel green eyes empty as they stared into the sky. His very lifeblood dripping on a car that Dean normally wouldn't be caught dead in. Just, now, he was caught dead on.

Peace. Was his brother at peace? Could a Winchester find peace? They'd been told (by sources not all that reputable) that their father was burning in hell. Their mother had held on for so long at her house, only to destroy herself. For them. Both their parents gone for them.

"I'm sorry." His mother had said that. Did she know? Could she possibly know what was going to happen to her boys? Was she apologizing in advance? Or was it just one of those meaningless phrases that people turned out when they didn't know what else to say?

He didn't know his mother well enough to judge. He knew her only from pictures, and stories tainted with the bias of whoever was telling them, usually Dean. Who saw her through four year old eyes, and always would.

Well, maybe not always. His eyes weren't seeing anything now as he hurried off the roof and slid down the stairs to the car his brother was sprawled on.

People were gathering. The car had an alarm on it. Dean would have mocked that idea, saying no one would steal the piece of crap. Except now Dean couldn't say anything.

"Oh god...Dean." Sam said as he lurched forward. No longer gliding or floating. Stumbling, barely making it. He wiped a blood splatter off his brother's face. Still warm. His brother was still warm. And people were staring. Why were they staring? Hadn't they ever seen a dead body before?

Oh, right.

Normal people probably hadn't. Lucky people. Everyone was always lucky but Dean.

Sam didn't know what to do. His whole life, either his dad or his brother gave the orders. As much as he used to mock Dean for being the 'good little soldier' right now he wanted to be nothing but. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. He didn't know what to do.

But he couldn't leave Dean. It took some effort, but he picked Dean up, his head lolling back over Sam's arm. His body hard where it shouldn't be, jelly where it shouldn't be.

The crowd parted as he walked through. Like the Red Sea. Moses lived to be one hundred and twenty years old. Dean lived to be twenty eight.

His thoughts were as disjointed as his brother's body as he made it back to the motel and put Dean's distorted body on his bed.

He didn't know what to do. He should call someone. He didn't know who to call though. Bobby? Ellen? Joshua? Joshua had found the answer to Dean's heart failure. Could Joshua find the answer to this?

He thought of necromancy. And rejected it. Dean would come back from the dead and kill him. Of that he was sure, his brother's words echoing in his head.

What's dead should stay dead.

What's dead should stay dead.

He was alone. His mother had been taken from him when he was a baby. He'd watched his father's heart stop on a monitor. He'd lost Jessica. Madison crossed his mind briefly, her face, trying so hard to be brave as he fired the single shot into her heart. And now Dean, his blood soaked through Sam's jacket, soaking the motel bedspread.

He didn't know what to do. His life had prepared him for a lot of things, but not for this. He couldn't do this. Whatever 'this' was. He couldn't do it.

He took off his shoes, he could do that. He tucked them under the bed, remembering how Dean would complain when he'd trip over them in the middle of the night. Clodhoppers. He had big feet.

He paced around the room for a while. His big toe was sticking out of a hole in his sock. He noticed that. Feeling the rough carpet underneath it as he paced. He didn't care, but he noticed that.

He let go. He let go of his brother.

No, he hadn't let go. Dean had made him. He remembered now. Dean made him, took the choice out of his hands. Took command like a good field general.

"You bastard." Sam said, feeling the tears welling up. "You bastard!" He shouted again for emphasis, throwing a chair across the room. "You goddamn bastard."

He threw a chair. "How am I supposed to do this, Dean? How am I supposed to do this? I don't...I don't know what to do! I can't do this by myself! You fucking bastard, why did you do that?" He shouted. "Everything and everyone is dead because of me! I don't know what to do! How...how do I do this? I can't do this! How could you? How could you..." Sam sank onto the edge of the bed. "How could you leave me? You were all I had left, dude."

Mindless of the tears coursing down his cheeks, he laid down next to Dean. He wiped a little more blood off his cheek. "How could you do this and think I'd want to just keep going?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I got chapter four up quick, I couldn't in good conscience leave you like that! So read and respond, I really have no idea where this story is going, so I'm along for the ride just like you!

Chapter Four: As Effortless As Breathing

Dean was known to drink. Most hunters drank. After what they had seen, what they had been through, it was a way to dull the pain. Dull the memories. Because sometimes memories needed to be dulled.

It was a great conversation avoider also. And Sam sure loved conversations. He couldn't understand it, musta been Stanford that did it. All that touchy feely psych courses he was probably forced to take.

Because sometimes, man, he just wanted to smack the shit out of Sam.

Sam wouldn't take "I'm fine" as a good answer to anything.

Dad was dead.

"I'm fine."

Dean was given a few months to live, at most.

"I'm fine."

His car was totaled and had to be rebuilt.

"This sucks."

Okay so that got a 'real' reaction out of him. Because the Impala hadn't asked for it, it had just happened. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He could have also said the wrong driver, but didn't. But she was fine now. All shiny and new. Better. The miles were starting to creep up on the old girl anyway. So maybe the demon had done her a favor in a strange way.

But for Dean to admit that something flesh and blood wasn't fine, would take an act of God.

And he was pretty sure God wasn't casting His eye on the Winchesters lately.

So the night before, when they'd met with Dad's old friends, taken a few readings on the house, and had settled down at a bar with their research, maybe he'd had a little too much.

But dammit, Sammy was acting weird. Even worse, he was acting weird for Sammy. Damned if he could get Sam to tell him what the hell was up. It was something, but he was closed mouthed.

And watching, always watching. Dean escaped to go to the bathroom and he swore Sam timed him. Couldn't prove it though.

So he kinda sorta passed out when he got to the motel. But he was sure he'd gotten into his own bed. Just as he was sure Sam hadn't had as much as him. So when he woke up to go to the bathroom, unwillingly and reluctantly woke up (because once you broke the seal there was no going back).

And nearly jumped a mile.

"Dammit, Sam!" He yelled as he got out of bed.

"Whaa..." Sam managed as he lifted his head from the pillow.

"Dude, we get two beds for a reason." He said, shaking his head as he padded off to the bathroom. Sam ran a hand over his face and through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.

"Dean?" He said, sleepy and confused.

"Better not have thought my name was Mindy or something." Dean called out from the bathroom.

"You're all right?"

Dean washed his hands and came out. "All right? Sure. I'm fine." Again, I'm fine. "You know, besides the fact my head kinda hurts, and my freaky brother was sleeping next to me, sure I'm fine."

Sam didn't remember going over to Dean's bed. They used to do that when they were children. When money was tight. He and Dean had shared a bed until Dean was thirteen. It had been fifteen years since they had shared a bed, and somehow Sam had found his way over there.

He knew why.

"Dude, what is UP with you?" Dean demanded as he popped a couple of Tylenol.

"Nothing." Sam lied. He couldn't tell him. How do you tell your brother, I'm not sure if it was a vision or a night mare, but you were dead. You were mangled and dead in that bed. And now you're not. Or is this a dream? Is the other a reality and is this a dream?

Nope, no way to say that.

"Guess I drank a little too much." Sam lied and forced a laugh. An easy, light laugh. "Remember the first time you got me drunk? I was, what? Eight?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah, about there." Their father had been away on a hunt. And left the liquor behind. Sam and Dean, so young, were curious. And had drank all of it. And really, really paid for it the next morning. And that was even before John came back. "You puked all over everything." And ended up sleeping with Dean because Dean's bed was clean as Sam's bedding was being laundered in the motel's laundromat.

"I had a dream about that." Sam said, because it sounded good. "Well, more of a drunken flashback." He said with a laugh.

"You're such a freak." Dean said with a laugh. But it made sense in a weird way, so he'd drop the subject. "Just...just go in your own bed. I got enough trouble with people thinking we're gay without you trying to use me as a teddy bear." He said with a shake of his head.

"You know, Dean, I was thinking..." Sam said as he crawled into his own bed.

"Uh oh..." Dean said automatically as he found a bag of pretzels they hadn't devoured yet.

"No, seriously. I was thinking, I just don't know if this job is worth it."

"Worth what?" Dean said. "Five hundred bucks? Bet your ass it is."

"I don't know, it's just too easy..." Sam said. Too easy for you to get killed.

"Sam, not everything has to be hard." Dean said around a mouthful of pretzels.

"I guess not." Sam said.

"What's up? Come on, something's up. I could beat it out of you." Dean said.

Sam chuckled. "I suppose you could. No, nothing. It's just this isn't on the trail of the demon, or the other kids like me, is all."

"Gotta pay the bills, Sam." Dean said with a shake of his head. "Look, it will be over by tomorrow night, right?"

"Right." Sam said, with remorse in his tone. One way or another, tomorrow night it would be over.


End file.
